


A Very Sticky Wicket

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Cricket, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the caves outside Mechanicsburg, Mr Wooster is bored out of his mind.  He's so bored, in fact, that he ends up teaching the Jägers to play cricket!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Sticky Wicket

The caves outside Mechanicsburg were surprisingly comfortable, as caves went. The Jägers had done a great deal of work to ensure that they were so, and, of course, nobody can work quite like a team of Jägers when they put their minds to it, especially with the redoubtable Dimo in charge. Mr Wooster had been allotted a spacious room of his own, and he was treated with a great deal of respect as someone who had been helpful to the Lady Heterodyne.

But that respect came at a certain price. Dimo would not allow him outside the caves.

“No,” the big Jäger had said, his golden eyes glinting in the gaslight. “Hyu too important. Ve can't risk hyu. Ve get all der information for hyu dat hyu vant. Ve bring hyu mail. Everytink. But is too dangerous out dere. Ven de Lady Heterodyne comes back, she is going to need hyu. Hy not going to be der vun to tell her ve lost hyu.”

“I am really not as important as you think,” Mr Wooster had protested. “I'm very flattered, Dimo, but although I've helped her in the past, I'm not sure I'll be able to do so in the future. And what if she never comes back? Are you going to keep me here for the rest of my life?”

“She vill come back. She is de Heterodyne. She vill not abandon us.”

“But, even so...”

“No. Hyu don't see, do hyu? Hyu said hyu vould take her to England. Ven she comes back, hyu going to need to do dat. Hy dun see who else could.”

“I could go out if I were with the Jägers, though, couldn't I?”

“No. None of der humans here goes outside. Is too dangerous. Dat goes double for hyu.” Those catlike eyes gleamed again. “Und hy know hyu is a schpy, so don't tink hyu can yust schneak out. Dat does not vork around der Jägerkin.”

Mr Wooster had entirely believed him. He knew Dimo well, and never made the mistake of underestimating him. Consequently, he had never attempted to sneak out, and Dimo had been as good as his word; the Jägers had not only brought him any information he specifically asked for, but anything else that they thought might be remotely useful, and so he was just as well up on events as if he had been allowed to roam freely himself.

Nonetheless, he was bored. He was so bored that it was almost a physical ache. He'd borrowed and read every book that anyone had brought into the caves... well, _almost_ every book, since he was not quite desperate enough to read _A Skifandrian Garden of Delights_ , especially after noticing the illustration on the cover. He'd seen it often enough, of course. It had been round all the Jägers several times, and Maxim in particular found it highly amusing that he refused to read it. But, no, not that one. He also spent a good deal of time making himself quietly useful around the caves, but even so there was a limit to how much of that he could do. Dimo had everything pretty well organised.

So now he was up in one of the look-out rooms, chatting to Maxim, who was on duty. To be slightly more accurate, he was chatting to the back of Maxim's hat, since Maxim was gazing out through a narrow crack in the rock, surveying the snowy landscape outside. The Jäger did not appear to notice the cold, but Mr Wooster was a little chilly. He got up, picked up the poker, and started applying it vigorously to the fire.

“Hyu cold?” asked Maxim.

“Cold and bored,” replied Mr Wooster. “If I have to stay inside for much longer, I swear my brain is going to start seizing up.”

“Hy not noticing any signs of dat yet,” replied Maxim. “Hy reckon hyu be all right for a vhile.”

“Well, that's very kind of you, Maxim, but I want some action. I wasn't built for extended periods of passivity. Every time I close my eyes, I find I'm thinking of school again.”

“Vy school?” asked Maxim, interested.

“Because we used to play a lot of sports. British public schools always do. I was at Winchester, and I got into the cricket team. We beat Eton, you know. One of the proudest moments of my life.”

“Vot is cricket?” asked Maxim.

“Great Scott,” said Mr Wooster, aghast. “You've never heard of cricket?”

“Vell. Hy tink hy heard it mentioned. But hy dun know vot it is.”

“Maxim,” said Mr Wooster, with all the passion of a true British sportsman, “you shall know. Let me explain.” And, with that, he proceeded to launch into a lengthy, detailed, and unusually clear exposition of the rules, traditions and customs of cricket; and if he perhaps waxed a little more lyrical and at greater length on the finer points of bowling than on the niceties of batting, then let us forgive him, for Mr Wooster was, among his many other talents, an extremely useful spin bowler.

Maxim listened in utter fascination. When Mr Wooster finally wound down into silence, he said, “Hey. Dat sounds really goot!”

“It is,” said Mr Wooster, his blue-grey eyes shining with enthusiasm. “It is the ultimate game.” 

“How about hyu teach us to play?” asked Maxim.

“Er... what?!”

“Hey! Hyu tink ve von't be goot at it or sumtink?” asked Maxim.

“No, no, it's not that at all,” Mr Wooster assured him hastily. “In fact, I suspect some of you would be very good indeed. It's just that we don't have the proper equipment. You need bats, balls, bails, stumps, padding...”

“Ve don't need padding,” said Maxim with a grin. “Ve be Jägers.”

“Well, all right, I'll concede that point,” said Mr Wooster. “But the other equipment... we haven't got it here, and I really don't see how we'd get it.”

“Ve improvise,” said Maxim happily. “Ve really goot at dat. Ven hy go off duty, hy going to go und talk to Dimo und ve see vot ve can do.”

“But...”

“Is no buts. Dis sounds like de best fun effer vitout an actual fight!”

“Oh, my,” said Mr Wooster, poking the fire again. “What have I started?”

He very soon found out. Maxim had a retentive memory, and was able to relate enough of what he had heard to Dimo and some of the others to get them equally interested. Before he knew it, Mr Wooster found himself in the centre of an impromptu Council of Cricket involving some thirty Jägers all excitedly asking him questions at once.

He raised his voice above the din. “Gentlemen! One question at a time, if you wouldn't mind.”

“Yentlemen _und lady_ ,” said a voice from the back.

“Oh, good afternoon, Jenka,” said Mr Wooster. “Nice to see you again. Perhaps you would like to be umpire?”

“No!” exclaimed Dimo. “Ve vant hyu to be umpire, Mister Vooster.”

“Absolutely not,” said Mr Wooster firmly. “I know you all respect Jenka, so she will be ideal.”

“But hyu are der vun vot knows all der rules,” Oggie pointed out. “Dat's vy hyu gots to do it.”

“I can teach Jenka. She's a quick learner,” said Mr Wooster. “Listen. You are all my friends, and I respect you immensely. There is nobody I'd rather have on my side in a fight than you. Nonetheless, if I may respectfully say so, you do not always know your own strength when you get excited, and cricket can be a very exciting game. If any of you should, for instance, accidentally forget himself and toss me in the air after disagreeing with a decision I made, I would not necessarily land safely, and I think we would all regret that.”

“If anyvun did dat to hyu, Mister Vooster, dey vould be sorry,” growled Dimo. “ _Very_ sorry. Hy hope hy make myself clear.”

“I know, Dimo, and thank you for your support, but I'm going to have to stand firm on this,” said Mr Wooster. “They could be as sorry as you liked, but it wouldn't heal any damage I took. I am not one of your kind.”

“Hyu got der courage of vun of us,” said Maxim. “Und hyu even nearly got der goot looks.”

Mr Wooster laughed. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Maxim, but thank you all the same for those kind words. Now, Jenka, are you willing to learn enough about this game to become umpire, or shall I ask Dimo?”

“Hy happy to learn,” said Jenka. “Hyu never know. It could be useful. Vun day hy might need to teach some odder Jägers.”

“A commendable spirit,” replied Mr Wooster. “Very well. I shall go through the basics with all of you now, and then... we... ah, yes... we are going to need two team captains.” And there's the first problem, he thought. I'm going to get a three-way argument involving Dimo, Maxim and Oggie.

But Dimo surprised him. “Ve better let dese two eediots do it,” he said, indicating the other two. “Hy better not play. Zumvun got to be on lookout duty.”

“Now that's real sportsmanship, Dimo,” said Mr Wooster warmly.

Dimo shrugged. “Is common sense.”

“Well,” said Mr Wooster. “Since we've already got two captains, you may as well pick your teams first, before I give the basic outline. Make sure everyone's in a team; you'll need some reserves.”

This was done without too much scuffling, and then Mr Wooster gave his explanation. “Now,” he said, when he had finished. “I'm going to teach Jenka what she needs to know to be umpire, and you chaps are going to need to find yourselves some equipment. Remember, whatever you use as bats will need to be strong. Ideally they need to look roughly like this in cross-section, but I appreciate that materials round here are somewhat limited.” He produced a pencil and paper from one of his pockets, and drew a quick sketch. “The ball should be about this size.” He held up a curved hand to demonstrate. “It should really be quite hard, but still able to bounce. Stumps and bails...” he resorted to the pencil and paper again. “More or less like this. And, since we've got to play inside the caves, we'll need something to hold them in place, since we can't just stick them into the floor.”

“Dat's easy!” said Oggie. “Ve yust get some clay.”

“Vy not bore holes in a block of vood?” asked Maxim. He took the spiked pauldron off his shoulder and turned it so that the spikes were pointing downwards. “Put dis over a block of vood, giff it a goot bash, und dere hyu go, hyu got a nize row of holes, yust perfect.”

“Hyu schplit der whole block like dat,” Oggie objected. “Vy not clay? Is easier.”

Mr Wooster held up a hand. “Please sort that out among yourselves, and if it takes a fight to do it, do that outside if you wouldn't mind. Now, Jenka. The first and most important thing you need to know is when and when not to give someone out...”

Jenka was, as he had mentioned, a good student, and the time passed so quickly as he explained all the fine points of his favourite game that it seemed only a few minutes before Maxim and Oggie returned with their respective teams, all clutching a miscellany of improvised equipment. Dimo, as befitted the acknowledged authority figure, had the ball.

“Hy hope dis is all right, Mister Vooster,” he said, rather apologetically. “Ve bought it off dis kid. From vot hyu said, ve tink it might bounce too much.”

“Well, it's about the right size, at least,” said Mr Wooster. “May I try it?”

Dimo handed it over, and Mr Wooster bounced it experimentally. “Oh dear,” he said. “That's going to ricochet all over the place. Still, we can hardly expect to find a proper cricket ball round here. It will just have to do.”

He glanced around the rest of the equipment. The stumps and bails were actually not bad; someone, probably Maxim, had whittled them from branches. Maxim was quite handy at wood carving. But the bats... oh, sweet lightning, the bats. Most of the Jägers had done one of two things: they'd either cut a green branch to something vaguely approaching the right size and shape, or they had tried the same thing with a lump of firewood. Maxim, however, had something which had clearly been a plank from some derelict building in its previous life. He had cut it to a pretty decent shape and bound a piece of leather around the handle to avoid splinters, but, even so, he hadn't bothered to take the nails out. Possibly he thought they gave it a certain cachet. And as for Oggie... yes, that really was a stalagmite.

“Now,” said Mr Wooster. “Is everyone ready?”

There was a roar of assent. I must be insane, he thought. I really cannot believe I have let myself get inveigled into this.

“Are you ready, Jenka?”

Jenka nodded. She seemed to be smiling behind her ever-present purple bandanna. “Ho ja. Hy goink to enjoy dis, Mister Vooster.”

“Yes, well, I do hope we all are,” he said. He fished in a waistcoat pocket and brought out a half-sovereign, a small comforting reminder of home. The likeness of Her Undying Majesty glinted upon it. “Dimo, before you go back to your look-out duty, one thing, if you don't mind. Please decide which team will be Heads and which Tails.”

Dimo pointed at Oggie. “Heads,” he said. “Hyu lot haff fun. Maybe hy play next time, hey?”

The coin spun in the air. “Tails,” Mr Wooster announced.

“So hy get to bat,” said Maxim gleefully.

“Ja,” said Jenka. “Hyu do. Unless hyu vant to put Oggie in.”

“So vot do hy do vit my stalagmite?” asked Oggie, rather plaintively.

“Voteffer hyu vant, schveethot, but hyu not goink to need it right now,” said Jenka. “Hyu need to sort out hyu field.”

“Perhaps we could have the fielding team's bats over here, where they'll be safe,” Mr Wooster suggested.

“Is nize stalagmite,” said Oggie.

“Yes, Ognian, but you don't need it for fielding,” said Mr Wooster. “Nobody else will take it. Now, put it down, please.” He was beginning to doubt the wisdom of allowing Oggie to captain a team in the first place.

Oggie put the thing down reluctantly, and his team-mates did the same with their improvised bats. “Hokay,” he said. “Hy guess hyu better all go vide, 'cos dat is vhere Maxim gonna hit it.”

“You can't just think about Maxim,” Mr Wooster warned him. “You've got to think about the whole team.”

“Hey!” protested Maxim. “Hyu can't giff advice to vun side und not der odder. Is not fair.”

“Maxim, fielding is the tricky bit when you're learning,” replied Mr Wooster. “When it's your turn to field, I will very happily give you advice too. But if Oggie doesn't play a reasonably well balanced field, we are not going to have a good game. Now, Oggie, I suggest you have a few slips and a gully, and maybe someone around silly point.”

“He got an extra player!” shouted Maxim.

“Ho ja,” said Jenka. “Hyu! Hy saw hyu schneak on behind my back. Off der pitch, now!”

The extra player slunk off shamefacedly. “Vosn't my fault, Jenka,” said Oggie. “Hy didn't tell him to come on.”

“Hy know hyu didn't. But if hy see it happen again, hy dock hyu some runs.”

“But, Jenka...”

“Hy be umpire,” Jenka purred. “My vord is law.”

Finally, everyone was in position. Oggie had got his field reasonably well balanced, and now he had the ball in his hand ready to bowl the first shot. Maxim faced him at the other end, holding his plank bat and grinning as though he had just scored a century at Lord's. He was still wearing his inevitable hat and cloak, and rich plum-coloured highlights shone in his long dark hair. Mr Wooster gave a little smile of amusement. He always got on very well with Maxim, but the fact remained that the Jäger could never do anything in public without acting like D'Artagnan.

Jenka gave the signal. Mr Wooster realised he had been holding his breath.

Oggie came charging up to the crease, his big forked feet bare as always, his face locked into a scowl of concentration. He wound up the ball and let fly...

...and then everything happened at once.

Maxim swung his bat to meet the ball. If he and Oggie had been two humans, it would almost certainly have been a wonderful shot. However, they were not, and moreover the plank bat was in no way up to the amount of momentum Oggie had been able to give the ball. It shattered into shrapnel, and Mr Wooster had to duck fast to dodge a particularly large and wicked-looking piece that flew his way. The ball kept going, struck the wicket-keeper on the forehead, and rebounded hard into the back of Maxim's head. His hat flew into the air.

This, thought Mr Wooster, is my cue to get out of the way. It's one of those moments when discretion is so clearly the better part of valour that it shouldn't even need saying.

“Dat,” roared Maxim, “vos my hat!” He wheeled round on the unfortunate wicket-keeper, who was still mildly stunned, and lifted him into the air.

“Hey!” Oggie protested. “Dat's my vicket-keeper! Put him down!”

“VOS MY HAT!” yelled Maxim.

“Vosn'tmevosn'tmevosn'tme,” stammered the wicket-keeper. “It yust bounced off me. Hy couldn't schtop it.”

Jenka ran up to the scene. “Hyu put him down or hyu is out,” she said.

“Hy hit it fair und schqvare!” Maxim insisted. “Und hy do der same to dis eediot...”

“Is my eediot!” yelled Oggie, running up in his turn. “Put him down!”

It was at precisely this point that silly mid off decided to live up to his title by throwing a punch at Maxim, after which it took even Jenka quite a lot of time to clear up the inevitable free-for-all. Mr Wooster, of course, was nowhere near these events when they happened. He had gone off to find Dimo at the look-out point.

“Vell, dat vos a short game,” said Dimo. “Hy tought hyu said it could go on for days?”

“Normally it can,” Mr Wooster replied, “but there was... an incident.” He explained exactly what had happened.

“Heh,” said Dimo, with a grin. “Hy sorry hy didn't see dat.”

“Well,” said Mr Wooster, “I'm just glad I insisted that Jenka should be umpire. I hate to think what might have happened otherwise.” He paused. “Dimo, they... they all seem to be very enthusiastic about cricket. Which is a jolly good thing in itself, of course, but do you think we could order some proper equipment from somewhere before playing another match? What has just happened is an object lesson in why it's not a good idea to improvise.”

Dimo scratched his stubbly chin. “H'mm. Vould not be easy. Ve vould probably have to send all der vay to London.”

“Yes, but that's not impossible. I mean, there is a postal service. I send reports. I even get letters from relatives now and again. Usually Aunt Emmeline, who always wants to know if I am planning to get married yet. And, er, if I am wearing my long thermals, for some reason. It's an aunt thing. I'm sure she's convinced I shall die of a chill.”

Dimo grinned. “Heh. Not hyu. Last ting hyu gonna die of.”

Mr Wooster looked away. “Don't remind me, Dimo. I'm well aware that I'll probably be killed in action. I would rather like to enjoy life first.”

“Vell, go und do it, den,” said Dimo practically. “Trouble vit hyu, hyu a goot man but hyu vorry too much. No point vorrying. Especially ven hyu actually goot at dealink vit tings ven dey happen.”

Mr Wooster smiled ruefully. “I'm kind of paid to worry, though, Dimo. I've got to think about all the things that could go wrong, so that I _can_ deal with them. But anyway, what about some cricket equipment?”

“Ja. Hy see vot hy can do. Is goot for de boys to haff a vay to let off some schteam ven dere is no-vun to fight.”

“Und de girl,” purred a third voice. “Dot vos der most fun hy haff had in years.”

“Ho... Jenka,” said Dimo, an expression of alarm crossing his face. “Hy... hy hope... hy hope Maxim und Oggie are... _all right?!”_


End file.
